A Very Public Affair
by narcoleptic86
Summary: Have you heard the latest? Don’t tell anyone but … Exposed: Pureblood in baby battle! Suddenly, Harry was the latest Prophet gossip: the boy who’d had an affair with Draco Malfoy, the notorious Pureblood …
1. Chapter One

A Very Public Affair

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary: Have you heard the latest? Don't tell anyone but …** _Exposed: Pureblood in baby battle!_ Suddenly, Harry was the latest Prophet gossip: the boy who'd had an affair with Draco Malfoy, the notorious pureblood, Ex-Death Eater extraordinaire …

**Pairings: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley/Blaise Zabini

**Categories: **Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe (AU)

**Author's note: **Enjoy!

Chapter One

The brick house stood before him, but Harry felt no sense of familiarity, not even of déjà vu. He walked briskly up to the front door, turned the key in the lock and pushed it open. And it wasn't until he stepped directly into the sitting room, crammed with books, even on the back of the door, with only a small sofa and armchair squeezed in, that the memory came rushing back. He gave a gasp and stood transfixed. It had been six years ago, but the days that he and Draco Malfoy had been here together-the one night he had spent in his arms-were suddenly complete in his mind, vivid and alive. As was the agony that had followed.

Slowly Harry stepped inside the house, hardly glancing at the books he had both come to value. In a trance, he walked up to the small bedroom he had used. The bed was still there, stripped now of its covers, but he could almost feel the force an strength of his hunger for him, the love and comfort he had given in return.

His heart pounded in his ears as he stared down at the bed. His breath came in gasping, unsteady sobs, and he didn't hear the door downstairs open, wasn't aware that there was anyone else in the house until he heard a man's voice call out, "Hello, there. Mr. Evans?"

He whirled with a sick feeling of terror. He mustn't find him in this room. Harry hardly glanced at the man standing in the hall. He knew it was Draco, would have known the deep voice anywhere, He even still heard it in his dreams, his nightmares. Quickly he went down to the stairs where he stood silhouetted by the light from the open door.

"Sorry I wasn't here to meet you," he began. "I'm afraid I got delayed at the Ministry and…" For a moment Harry thought he wasn't going to recognise him, but then his voice faded as his eyes widened.

"Harry? Merlin's beard! It _is_ you."

"I didn't know this was your house," he said defensively. "I never knew the address, where it was."

"No I suppose not." Draco was still staring at him incredulously. "You've changed so much. I hardly knew you."

Avoiding his eyes, unable to look at him directly, Harry moved past him towards the window and said hurriedly, "You'll have to get someone else to do the valuation."

Realising what he was doing, Draco reached out to catch his arm. "But surely-"

A great fear filled him, a terror close to panic, and his voice rose. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Draco gave an astonished laugh. "But this is ridiculous. It was all so long ago, and-" He broke off. Brought up short as he looked directly at him at last and saw the vehement, naked fury in his eyes.

"Get out of my way!" Pushing past him, Harry opened the door to _accio_ his broomstick.

Coming behind him, he called out, "Harry, please wait. Look there's really no need-"

With a quick snap his broom was hovering and he mounted. He went to move forward but had to brake sharply-Draco had moved to stand right in front of him. His face looked hard, determined. "I'm not letting you leave like this, Harry."

His hand tightened on the broom, he held it there, hoping to drown out his words.

With an angry exclamation he came forward, but Harry seized the opportunity and shot away, sending the broomstick hurtling out and into the air. His one thought was to find James and get away from here. Because Draco must never find him, never know he existed. His breath sobbing in his throat, Harry flew out onto the main road and tore down towards the village

James his five-year-old son and the most precious thing in his life, was playing in the garden of the guesthouse where he'd booked a room. Grabbing him, desperately trying to keep his voice calm and not frighten him, he said, "The job's fallen through. We've got to go. Now! We must pack quickly, quickly."

"But, Mama, we've only just-"

But he pulled him inside their room and with a hurried "_pack"_ their things began to assemble themselves, which they'd unpacked only an hour ago, into the trunk. "Come on. _Come on_." He rushed him downstairs and thrust some galleons into the hands of the astonished landlady. "Sorry, something's come up. We won't be able to stay after all."

Harry threw the case in front of the fireplace and jumped in line. "Quickly, now, James." He bent to pick up James, with one hand and dragged the case and broom with the other. He grasped some Floo Powder ready to throw it in the fireplace. A slow-moving group were saying their farewells and blocking the fireplace. Harry desperately moved around the group, he quickly threw the powder into the fireplace, and it flamed a brilliant green. As they entered the fireplace, he spoke quietly their destination. Draco saw him-and his eyes widened in astonishment as he saw James on his hip-with a spinning rush of emerald flames they disappeared.

_PUREBLOOD FIGHTS FOR ACCESS TO LOVE-CHILD_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Draco Malfoy, 23, the entrepreneur who has made a fortune out of his worldwide business empire, has found that money can't buy him what he wants most in the world-a son to carry on his name and inherit his vast fortune. Divorced and childless, with no sign of wishing to marry again, Malfoy looked set for a lonely future until chance took a hand and he met again a man he had known some years ago-and found that he had born him a son!_

_To his great disappointment, however, the child's 'mother', Mr. Harry James Potter, also known as the boy who lived, an un-known hermaphrodite, 23, has refused to allow the Aristocrat near the boy. It's rumoured he even denied the relationship at first, until it was found that he'd entered Malfoy's name on the birth certificate. The boy, known as James Sirius Potter, is five years old and a pupil at an exclusive school in London, where he lives with his mother._

_Draco Malfoy comes from an aristocratic background but showed great business skills from an early age, starting his first company when still at Hogwarts and running that and two more in his_ _seventh year, where he attained N.E.W.T.S in all twelve subjects, the most one can receive. Often called, 'the man with the golden touch', every enterprise Malfoy undertakes seems to pay off. But will he win through this time? He has been forced to go to law to gain access to his, but the boy who lived is said to be fighting him all the way._

_What happened between the two to make the hermaphrodite so against him neither will say. Maybe it's because Mr. Potter is a half-blood with mother, Lily (Evans) Potter a Muggle-born witch; his father-who along with his mother was murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named soon after he was born- the aristocrat James Potter. It would be intriguing to find out! We await the outcome of the lawsuit with interest and wish Malfoy-a well known philanthropist-every success._


	2. Chapter Two

A Very Public Affair

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary: Have you heard the latest? Don't tell anyone but …** _Exposed: Pureblood in baby battle!_ Suddenly, Harry was the latest Prophet gossip: the boy who'd had an affair with Draco Malfoy, the notorious pureblood, Ex-Death Eater extraordinaire …

**Pairings: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley/Blaise Zabini

**Categories: **Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe (AU)

Chapter Two

When Harry walked into the room he felt all the eyes turn on him, heard the sudden lapse in the conversation. Chin high, he resolutely ignored it and walked up to the director of the auction house.

"Harry. So pleased you were able to come." He shook his hand, his manner pleasant enough, but he noticed the speculative look in his eyes. He encountered the same look, or something very near it, on the faces of the other people who were gathered in the large room, people he had previously regarded as friends and colleagues. But now, since the damning piece about him in all the tabloids, their manner towards him had subtly changed-especially that of the men.

It had taken some courage to come tonight. Perhaps it would have been easier if it had just been people he knew, but this evening the auction house was sponsoring a major charity auction in aid of a St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. As a Healer-in-Charge, Harry was expected to attend, and it would be cowardice not to come. So much as he would have liked to bury himself at home, Harry had put on his newest dress robes, stitched a smile on his face and here he was. Let them talk. So what? He could take it. He _had_ taken it. But he was furious on James' behalf; already he was being teased at school about the damn lawsuit.

He took a glass of champagne and mingled with his fellows, trying to keep his manner as calm and natural as he could. But half an hour later the double doors of the salon were thrown open and the first of the guests arrived: the organisers of the occasion, rich society women and their husbands. They were followed by celebrities from all walks of life: the theatre, business, politics-everyone who wanted to see and be seen in this exclusive circle. As one of the hosts, Harry was kept busy, mingling with the guests, thanking those who had made donations to the charity, ignoring the small, knowing smiles when people recognised him. But his cheeks flushed when he saw the heads of two women close together and heard one passing on the gossip. "Didn't you know? The boy who lived had an affair with Draco Malfoy. And there's a child involved, evidently. It was all in the papers."

Quickly Harry moved away, cursing his bad luck. There had been no reason-except for is terror-stricken reaction-for Draco to suspect about James from that one glimpse he'd had of him at the guesthouse a couple of months ago. But he had. And it had taken him no time at all to track him down, and then look up James' birth certificate. But when he'd tried to contact him, he's returned none of his owls, hadn't answered his letters and refused to let him in when he had fire called at the flat. But then he'd brought the lawsuit, so he'd had to take notice of that.

Harry turned towards the door. He'd done enough; no one would notice if he left now. A newcomer had arrived and he found himself gazing at the one man he didn't want to see-at Draco Malfoy. He took a purposeful step towards him but Harry quickly went to join a small group gathered round a famous Quidditch player. The director good-naturedly presented him, and Harry took good care to stay within the group until the auction started a short time later and everyone went to their seats.

He had sat on a spare chair at the end of a row, so that Draco had no chance of coming near him. Already people had noticed that he was there too, and were nudging their friends, whispering the news. Not that they were interested in Harry particularly-he was adamant about his privacy and regarded the high life with distaste. But Draco was famous-a shark who could devour every other fish for breakfast. Glancing out the corner of his eye, Harry saw him take a seat on the other side of the room. He looked towards him, his expression deeply sardonic, and he hastily shifted his gaze to the front-but his chin came up, set and determined. There was no way he was going to let Draco have a part of James' life. Not after the way he'd treated him, used him.

The auction began and his thoughts drifted, away from that warm room with its bejeweled women and formally attired men, back to the coldest night he'd ever known…


	3. Chapter Three: Part One

A Very Public Affair

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary: Have you heard the latest? Don't tell anyone but …** _Exposed: Pureblood in baby battle!_ Suddenly, Harry was the latest Prophet gossip: the boy who'd had an affair with Draco Malfoy, the notorious pureblood…

**Pairings: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley/Blaise Zabini

**Categories: **Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe (AU)

**Status: **Un-betaed

Chapter Three: Part One

The car that paused at the road junction was big and sleek, silver-grey in colour beneath the streetlights. It made a statement that was easy to read: whoever drove a car like this had to be successful, rich, a winner. Huddled in a shop doorway and shivering with cold, Harry-hopeless, completely broke, a loser-raised tired lids to glance at it, deeply envying the mobile cocoon of warmth and luxury on this freezing winter's night.

The lights changed to green and the car drove on, but turned into the courtyard of a building just a few yards down the street on the opposite side. Watching, Harry saw the car pull up at the entrance and a man get out. He seemed in a great hurry, almost running through the doorway. He didn't even bother to shut the car door properly. Such casual disregard held Harry's attention. He waited for the man to come out again, his eyes fixed on the car, his while mind consumed with the thought of the warmth inside it.

Slowly he dragged himself to his feet and as if drawn by an invisible but powerful magnet crossed the road towards the building. Once out of the shelter of the doorway the icy blast of the wind caught him, made him gasp at its fierceness and brought tears that ran like icicles down his cheeks. Reaching the other side, Harry peered through the ornate iron railings that surrounded the block. The man still hadn't come out and the car door was definitely open a couple of inches. He glanced round to see if anyone was watching, but it was almost one in the morning and the street was empty. Even the London traffic had ceased, everyone eager to get home on such a cold night.

For a moment he hesitated, but a gust of freezing wind chilled him to the marrow and sent him hurrying through the entrance, up to the car. A moment later his numb fingers had found the latch of the rear door and he slipped inside, pulling that and the driver's door closed behind him. Immediately the cold of the wind was gone, making him give a sob of heartfelt relief. The inside of the car was very dark, but the back seat was deep and padded. Harry felt something fabric under his hand and found it was a rug, large and thick and beautifully soft. With a sigh of sheer bliss he lay back on the seat, curled into it and pulled the rug completely over himself.

The car must be new; he could smell the richness of the leather upholstery, catch the unmistakable hessian and wool smell of new carpet. But most of all he felt the warmth that still lingered. It was so long since he'd been warm. The winter had been so severe and he'd been cold for so long that it was almost impossible to remember what it had been like to be warm all the time, for it to be commonplace that he hadn't even thought about it.

Harry's thoughts drifted, his tired brain unable to concentrate, and he fell asleep.

* * *

It was twenty minutes before Draco Malfoy came out to the car. He had changed from the dress robes he'd been wearing when the owl came and now had on jeans and a sweater, clothes more comfortable for the long drive north. He put his suitcase in the boot and threw his camel overcoat in the back, his movements brisk, compelled by the urgency in the voice of his godfather's neighbour. Flu, she's said, but his Severus hadn't let her owl him. Now pneumonia had set in and he wasn't getting better, was not responding to treatment. He was worried, she was worried but now her own family had gone down with the flu virus, giving her no time to spare for her neighbour, and he refused to go into St. Mungo's let alone a muggle hospital.

He would, Draco thought. Such obstinacy was typical of his godfather. It was what made him insist, when he'd retired from Hogwarts, on going to live in Spinner's End so that he could devote his life to the study and research of Potions.

The grimness in Draco's lean face softened as he thought of Severus. They didn't see each other often. They were both men of independent spirit-his godfather because that was the way he wanted to be, and Draco because that was the way he'd been brought up-but the bond between them still went deep. Draco's parents were dead, had died many years ago, and his godfather had shown no inclination to ever marry, rather out of love or the need for companionship, he'd chosen to raise his godson as his own. He was a man who could be perfectly content in his own company, and he had managed very contently until this illness had struck him down.

The unexpectedness of the neighbour's emergency call had been a shock, especially coming as it had been when he'd been at a nightclub after an evening spent at the opera. Reaching the motorway that ringed London, Draco had put his foot down and headed north.

* * *

Having the coat thrown over his head had startled Harry out of his sleep. He'd woken in fright, thinking that he was being attacked. But then the car had started to move and he'd remembered where he was. For a moment he was petrified that he'd been seen, but then realized that he couldn't have been or the driver would have thrown him out. Harry hazily thought that he ought to let the driver know he was there, or heaven knew where he'd end up. But the car was so warm, and the heavy overcoat had made him cosier still. He thought about it, and while he was still thinking fell deeply asleep again.

The big car ate up the miles, its engine the soft purr of a well-bred cat. Draco turned on the radio to a classical music channel but kept it low. The programme was interrupted from time to time by traffic bulletins, which spoke of freezing temperatures and the threat of snow as he went further north. Two hours out of London he pulled off the motorway into a service area, where he filled the car up with petrol then went into the café where he bought a flask of coffee and a couple of rolls.

Harry didn't wake then, but he did when Draco stopped again sometime later and took a drink from the flask. It was the aroma of the coffee that got to him, filtering through the covers and making his insides ache with hunger. Gently, very slowly he pulled the cover from around his face. The smell of the coffee was immediately stronger, making his throat tighten with thirst. He thought he'd die for a cup, for just a mouthful, a taste. Then he'd heard him unwrap a roll and smelt the ham that filled it, had to push his hand in his mouth and bite on it to stop himself crying out, the hunger in his belly a physical pain.

It was relief when the car started off again and there was just the sound of music and the smell of the leather seats. He saw white wisps hitting the windows and knew that it was snowing. With a great shiver, Harry pulled the car rug close again. Fleetingly he wondered about the driver. He could see it was a man, but that was about all. His head was mostly hidden by the head-rest, and all he could see of him was a wide pair of shoulders and the top of his light head faintly outlined by the lights on the dashboard. Impossible to tell any more of him, but he had the impression that he was young. Was that good or bad? And how would he react when he found him, when they arrived at wherever he was heading?

Harry found he didn't much care-about any of it. Things could hardly get worse for him than they were already, so what was the point worrying? At least at the moment he was warm and comfortable, and he decided just to be thankful for that and to hell with the rest. So he slept again as the car continued on through the night-more slowly now in the bad conditions.

It was almost seven in the morning and the sky had lightened, but Draco still needed his headlights; the snow was becoming much heavier as the wipers incessantly cleared it from the windscreen. He had left the main road behind and the snow was worse on these minor roads, piling into drifts so that he had to use all his concentration. Coming to a crossroads, Draco slowed to peer at the signpost but was unable to read it. Pulling into the side, he looked at the map but realised it was no good; he would have to go and clear the damn sign.

Opening the door of the car, he felt the cold hit him. He stretched his shoulders, easing his aching back muscles, then opened the rear door and reached in for his overcoat. He pulled it out. Beneath it the rumpled car rug moved! Draco stared, then reached in and yanked it away to reveal the figure lying in the seat.

"What the heck? How the hell did you get in there?" And, grabbing hold of the enveloping anorak, he dragged the person out of the car.

Coming to with a shock, Harry almost fell as he pulled him roughly out into the road. His legs had gone stiff from being curled up for so long and he could hardly stand, making him stumble and catch hold of him to steady himself. Immediately Draco pushed him away and then gave him a violent shake, his face full of anger and distaste.

"Who are you? When did you get into the car?" Harry didn't answer and he gave another rough shake. The hood of the anorak fell off and his hair, long and dark, tumbled about his head. "Good grief!"

For a moment they stood in the road, the snow swirling about then as they stared at each other. Harry looked at him in nervous alarm decided not to dispute, saw that Draco was tall and that he's been right in thinking him young-he looked to be in his early twenties, his hair a pale, white blonde. His eyes gray and cold, full of startled anger, and he said again, "Who are you? How did you get in the car?"

A snowflake settled on his lashes and Harry lifted his hand to wipe it away, then shivered and said, "Please-I'm cold."

Draco hesitated then gave a curse and strode over to clear the sign. Taking this as an acceptance of him being there, Harry quickly got back in the car. He joined him a minute later, closing the door to keep out the cold, then looked at him over the back of his seat. "Where did you get in-at the petrol station?"

Harry nodded, not seeing any point in telling him he'd been there all the way from London.

"Damn! I haven't got time to take you all the way back there. Where do you live?" He didn't speak and he said exasperatedly, "Haven't you got a tongue in your hear? Where do you live?"

"I-I don't live anywhere."

His eyebrows rose, then he frowned. "I suppose you've run away from home." Again Harry didn't speak and he thumped his clenched fist against the seat in annoyance. "What the hell am I going to do with you?"

Terrified that he might kick him out into the snow, Harry sat very still, his green eyes, large with apprehension, fixed on his face.

As if reading his thoughts, Draco said, "I ought to throw you out. I would too, if it wasn't so damn cold." Making up his mind, he turned away and put on his seat belt, started the car and began to drive again. "Don't think that I'm letting you get away with this. As soon as I possibly can I'm going to hand you over to the police and let them deal with you."

With a great inner sigh of relief Harry settled back in the seat, but stayed sitting up, just pulling the rug around him again. Looking out the windows, he could see no houses anywhere, just expanses of open fields and sometimes a few trees, their branches already white with snow. The man, he could see, was giving all his attention to his driving. Once the car skidded and it looked as if they were headed for a ditch, but he quickly straightened it, then gave a grunt of satisfaction as he saw a farmhouse and turned up the lane that ran along the side of it. The lane was short-about half a mile-then they came to another house, a smaller one, built of grey stone and with a copse of fir trees to the side. There was another car parked outside.

"Stay here," the driver ordered, and didn't even glance at Harry as he hurried to the house.

The door was unlocked, Draco pushed it open and seeing the landing light was on, ran upstairs. "Mrs. Edwards?"

She was in his godfather's room, and turned with a look of relief. "Thank goodness you've come. The Healer's been and he's left some potions." Already she was reaching for her coat.

Glancing at the bed, Draco saw his godfather was sleeping. They went out on the landing before he said, "How is he?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry to say-he's bad. Here, I've written down the Healers details. He'll be able to tell you more than I can, although you might have trouble getting him; everyone around here seems to be down with this flu."

"You'll be wanting to get back to your family. How are they?"

"Oh, they're young and strong; _they'll_ recover." She stopped short and flushed a little. And Draco, seeing it, suddenly realised with a sick feeling of shock what she was afraid to tell him.

"Is he so ill?" he said faintly, hoping against hope that she would deny it. But she gave a brief nod and went ahead of him down the stairs. "I'll drive you home," he said mechanically, his brain trying to come to terms with it but refusing to accept such terrible news.

"No, I have the car." Mrs. Edwards looked out of the window. "It's a good job you got here when you did; the lane soon gets blocked with snow and the weathers to dangerous to apparate."

She left him, and Draco went back to his godfather's room. He sat by the bed and took hold of his godfather's limp hand. For the first time he realised how aged the man looked. He wasn't an old man, but Draco had never realised it before. His skin was pallid and his breathing laboured, and unnatural. Draco sat beside him, his thoughts full of regret and sadness, and it was a long time before he remembered the boy in the car.

Harry saw the woman hurry out of the house and the car drive away. He waited for the man to come back, peering through the ever-thickening snow. Now that the engine was off the car began to get cold again. And he was hungry, so hungry. Still the man didn't come back. At last, driven by hunger and by the warmth and shelter that the house promised, Harry got out of the car, gasping as the wind cut into him and the snow covered his shoes. Hurrying to the door, he went to knock, then hesitated and tried the knob. The door opened and he went quickly inside, afraid of making the man angry again but too cold and hungry not to risk it.

Closing the door, he looked apprehensively round, expecting any moment to have someone come up and demand to know what he was doing there. But the sitting room, the walls covered with books, was empty. Fleetingly Harry noticed the only furniture in the room was a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. But then he saw an open door from which came the smell of something cooking-a rich savoury smell that had him through the door and into the kitchen in two seconds flat.

The delicious smell came from a large pan that simmered on the range. Broth? Stew? Soup? Hardly able to control the shaking eagerness of his hands, Harry found a bowl and spooned a large helping into it. He was so starved that he had eaten three helpings before he even bothered to look around him. The Kitchen was large, dimly lit, and beautifully warm from a fireplace. Harry noticed the walls, which were in shadow, lined with glass jars, including the wall behind the table. Each jar contained some potion in which there were suspended slimy bits of some animal or plant. He thought he even saw what looked to be a large dead frog suspended in some purple liquid. There was a big cupboard in one corner, of what looked to contain potions ingredients. The Cauldrons stacked in the corner confirmed that is was a Wizard he'd encountered.

He glanced down at the bowl he'd been using and guiltily looked in the pan. It was only a quarter full now. Harry gulped, wondering if he'd eaten most of the food intended for a whole family. He began to wonder, too, where the car driver had got to-but just then heard a door closing somewhere, and then rapid footsteps coming down the stairs. Nervously he stood still waiting for his approach.

Draco saw him as he came round the bend in the stairs, and stopped short in surprise. He had hardly taken him in before and was too full of shock over Severus to do so now. All he knew was that the boy was a worry, an inconvenience he definitely didn't want, especially now. Annoyance making his voice harsh, he said, "I told you to wait in the car."

"It was cold."

Draco saw that he was still wearing the anorak, that it was dirty and stained, as were the jeans and the filthy, unwashed long hair that had made him mistake the boy for a girl at first. Draco's nose wrinkled a little in distaste as he came down into the kitchen. "When did you run away?"

It was impossible to deny that he was a run away, but Harry couldn't see why he had to know, so he didn't answer.

Draco sighed. "Have you at least got a name?"

He hesitated, the said, "It's Harry."

He was surprised, but perhaps he'd made it up. Deciding that he had, his face hardened. "Harry what?" he demanded brusquely.

Not liking his tone, Harry's chin came up a little, "Smith," he said shortly.

His eyes went to his face at that, and registered a pair of defiant green eyes. With an angry exclamation he went past him into the kitchen. "You're going to have to say who you are some time, you know. If not me, then to the police." Noticing the bowl on the table he said wryly, "I see you made yourself at home."

"I'm sorry. I was hungry."

He glanced in the pan, then said, "You may as well finish it off."

Harry didn't argue, immediately coming to fill his bowl again, but he managed to say, "Don't you want any? It's very good."

"No. I'll just make myself some coffee." He gave him an assessing look, surprised by the educated tones of his voice. He'd expected him to be from a different background. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," Harry lied.

Draco gave a short laugh. "Do you really expect me to believe that? He had picked up the kettle but turned with it in his hands to look at him. He was, he realised, very thin and pale, and there were dark shadows round his eyes. He looked like a Victorian waif, thrown out into the snow. Roughly he said, "You look about fourteen."

"I'm not!" Harry said indignantly. "I'm twenty-one." He caught his eyebrows rising disbelievingly. "Well-nineteen, anyway." But that was still a lie because he was only just eighteen.

He took his bowl to the table and a few minutes later he came to sit opposite with his mug of coffee. "You," Draco said shortly, "are a damn nuisance. My godfather is upstairs and he's…" He hesitated and found that he was unable to say 'dying,' so said instead, "He's very ill and I can't leave him. So I'll have to phone the nearest police station and ask them to come and collect you." He saw his fingers tighten on the spoon, but he didn't speak or look at him. "Of course," he went on, "it would make things a whole lot easier if you'd tell me who you are so that your parents could come instead. I'm sure they must be terribly worried about you and-"

"I haven't any parents," Harry said shortly.

Draco looked at his set face, wondering if he was lying again. "Well there must be someone who-"

"There isn't."

He became exasperated. "Look, I haven't got time to play games. It's your parents, guardian, or whatever-or the police. Which is it to be?"

Harry raised a strained face to look at him. "The police won't want to know. I'm over-age and I have the right to lead whatever kind of life I want, wherever I want. They can't make me go back."

"Well, at least you've admitted that there is somewhere for you to go back to," Draco pounced. He stood up, fretting to get back to Severus' side. "And you're certainly not staying here."

Going out to the car, he brought in his suitcase and overcoat. And his mobile phone, knowing that Severus had never allowed a phone to be installed in the house-that or even a television set. Dumping his case on the floor in the sitting room, Draco went to look over the information the Healer had left for him. The Healer had gone into much greater detail than Mrs. Edwards but in the end the news was just the same: Severus was dying; there was nothing more they could do for him.

…_Severus knows; he made me tell him when I wanted him to go into hospital. But he said he wanted to die in his own home… He is not in pain. The medication I've left for him will remedy that. It's just a matter of time. It's hard to say, a few days, perhaps a week. I'll come as often as I can, but I've a flu epidemic on my hands…_

For a long moment he sat staring at the wall then roused himself and called the local police. They could do nothing about the boy today, they said when he explained his position. Half their men were down with the flu. They advised him to just send him on his way.

"It's snowing outside," Draco pointed out.

He could almost hear the shrug in the policeman's voice. "Unless you want to bring charges against him for breaking into your car, there's not a lot we can do except try and persuade him to go home. Has he given you his name? We could look on the missing-persons file and see if we can find an address for him."

With inner anger, Draco told them to just come and collect the boy as soon as possible.

Going back to the kitchen, he found Harry washing out the now empty pan. He had taken off the anorak but it was impossible to tell what sort of figure he had, as he seemed to be wearing several layers of sweaters. He turned emerald green eyes to look at him apprehensively. At any other time Draco might have felt some sympathy, if not pity for him. But not now; his thoughts were too full of the days ahead and taking care of Severus.

"You'll have to stay here until tomorrow," he said abruptly. "The police can't come for you until the morning."

Harry relaxed a little, but then thought that maybe his troubles weren't over-he would be alone here with this man. But no, almost at once he realised that he had nothing to fear. He was too preoccupied with his sick godfather to even think of him in that way.

"Come with me and I'll show you can sleep." He followed Draco up the stairs. When they reached the corridor at the top he pointed out his godfather's room. "I'll be with my godfather." He opened another door further down. "I suppose you'd better have this room. You'll have to make the bed up. There's blankets and things in that cupboard on the landing. And the bathroom's over there." He turned to go to his godfather's room, but Harry said quickly, "Please-can I have a bath?"

"Yes, of course." He looked surprised that he'd asked.

"And-and you know my name, but I don't know yours."

He gave a curt laugh. "I know the name you've chosen to tell me, you mean."

Having slept in the car for several hours, and feeling full of good food, warm for the first time in weeks, and knowing he had somewhere to stay for the night, Harry was able to say lightly, "A new life deserves a new name."

His left eyebrow rose and he smirked. "Smith? Surely you could do better than that?"

Harry smiled a little and Draco saw with surprise that there was a trace of beauty in the thin features. Somehow this made him angrier, and he said harshly, "My name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Look, I maybe stuck with you until tomorrow but I shall expect you to keep out of the way. I haven't got time to worry about you. Understand?"

His face flushed at the obvious rebuff and he said stiffly, "Yes. I'm sorry."

He nodded and went on his way.

Harry must have stayed in the bath for over a couple of hours, washing his hair, absolutely wallowing in the pleasure of soaking in all that lovely hot water.

Since he'd left what Draco had called his 'home'-but which he'd thought of as purgatory-he'd tried to keep himself clean, washing himself in public mens' cloakrooms after he'd had to leave the cheap hotel where he'd stayed until his money had run out. He'd been able to wash and change his clothes then, too, because he'd carried a backpack crammed with his belongings. But to his despair, it had been stolen one night as he'd lain asleep on a park bench and since then had nothing but the clothes he was wearing.

Reluctant to put his beautifully clean body back into them, Harry found a toweling robe hanging on the bathroom door and put that on instead. His hair he toweled dry as soon as possible, but he had nothing to brush it with so it had to stay a dark, tangled mass about his head. Bare footed, he picked up all his clothes and took them downstairs to the kitchen, then thrust the whole lot in the washing machine and switched it on. Checking the cupboards he found it well stocked with food, so, still feeling guilty at having eaten all the stew, he set about cooking a meal.

Upstairs, Severus woke at last. When he saw Draco he reached for his hand. Draco gripped it tightly. They didn't speak; there was no need for words. They both knew why he had come and that this would be their last time together.


	4. Chapter Three: Part Two

A Very Public Affair

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary: Have you heard the latest? Don't tell anyone but …** _Exposed: Pureblood in baby battle!_ Suddenly, Harry was the latest Prophet gossip: the boy who'd had an affair with Draco Malfoy, the notorious pureblood…

**Pairings: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley/Blaise Zabini

**Categories: **Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe (AU)

**Status: **Un-betaed

Chapter Three: Part Two

The Kitchen seemed to buzz with activity. When Draco went down there to get Severus some water he found Harry-still in the bathrobe-busily blending soup, the tumble-dryer turning, pans simmering on the stove. "I thought you'd be hungry by now," Harry explained, his face a little flushed. "So I made some lunch. I'll go upstairs while you eat it," he added hastily, remembering he was supposed to keep out of his way.

Draco almost did a double take, Harry looked so different. With his hair all mussed like that, and the colour in his cheeks, he looked startingly attractive, almost beautiful. Taken aback, unprepared for him to look anything like human, let alone this, all he could say was, "You haven't got any shoes on."

"I've only got one pair and they're really grotty."

"What about your clothes?"

He pointed at the tumble-dryer.

"Are they all you've got?"

Harry's face hardened a little. Of course they were all he'd darn well got! Couldn't he see that? Acidly he said, "If I'd known I was coming to stay I would have brought a trunk full of designer clothes with me."

Immediately after he said it he wished he hadn't; after all, it wasn't his fault that he'd ended up here and been dumped on him like this. Expecting him to get mad, he was completely surprised when Draco gave a rough laugh. He didn't speak but went away and came back with a thick pair of woollen socks that he held out to him. "My godfather uses these when he goes walking. They should keep your feet warm."

Slowly Harry walked over to take them. It was such a small thing, probably meant nothing to Draco, but it was a long time since anyone had shown him any kindness and it brought silly tears to his eyes. "Thanks," he said huskily as he took them.

Shrugging, Draco turned to get some water.

"I'll make some soup. Do you think your godfather might like some?"  
Harry ventured.

"Let's give it a try."

Draco went upstairs carrying a tray, leaving Harry to eat alone, and he didn't come own again until an hour or so later for his own lunch, by which time his clothes were dry and Harry had dressed again.

He left him alone to eat, spending the time looking round the house. Every room seemed to be filled with books relevant to potions, and the more he looked at it the more it grew on him. He was examining a thick book, Asiatic Anti-Venoms, back in the sitting room, when Draco came in.

"I've never seen so many potions books like this before," he explained.

Draco realised then it was no muggle in his godfather's home but chose to answer Harry for now, and question later. "My godfather has a passion for anything related to Potions. He's a Potions Master. He's been collecting them most of his life." He saw Harry's puzzled look and said, "There are more books galore in the study, if you're interested."

Draco went back upstairs, dismissing the boy from his mind. Severus woke again for a while and he gave him his potions, but soon he was asleep, his breathing laboured, painful. Draco brought the pillows and duvet from the cupboard in the hall, made up a bed on the settee in his godfather's room and spent the night there in a lonely vigil.

In the morning his phone rang. It was Mrs. Edwards, saying that the lane was blocked with snow and she couldn't get through to the house. Later the police rang and said the main road was blocked, too; they didn't know when they could get there. He would've owled the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but his Eagle owl, Octavian was delayed by the weather. So he was stuck with Harry indefinitely.

He hadn't slept much; the settee was too short for his six feet two inches. And the previous night there had been a long drive to get here, as apparating the long distance to Severus' house in his frame of mind would've surely resulted in being splinched. He was dog-tired but full of deep anger against the fate that had done this to his godfather, against the boy for hiding in his car, definitely against the snow and even-God help him-because Severus hadn't taken better care of himself and had allowed himself to become so ill.

The days stretched endlessly into one another. The skies were so dark outside that Draco sometimes didn't know whether it was night or day. He slept only when Severus did-and that was only lightly, continuously waking to listen again to his godfather's agonised breathing. Sometimes he was a little better and managed to talk, although it was obvious it pained him. Those moments were precious to Draco, making up for wasted opportunities, for enforced separations. The Healer phoned every day, but there was little help or advice he could give. The roads were still blocked, but he had left plenty of potions; there was nothing else he could do.

At least Draco didn't have to worry about preparing food; Harry had taken it on himself to do that, to do the washing and even clean the house. When Draco came downstairs he would find him working away quite happily, or else curled up in the armchair in the sitting room, deep into one of Severus' books on potions. They didn't talk much; he wasn't interested in him, but he was grateful that he had taken it so many niggling worries off his shoulders.

One morning, when they'd been there nearly a week, Harry came into the kitchen to clear away after his breakfast and found him still there, slumped in the armchair and deeply asleep. He had always been intimidated by him, but he looked so vulnerable now. He moved to look at him, at the strong, lean face with is square chin, wide forehead and straight pale brows. His features were clean-cut, finely drawn, but his good-looks weren't the first thing that you noticed about him-it was his determination and self assurance that came across most strongly. You got the impression he would be irritated at being liked for his looks; it was his personality that was all-important.

Studying him, Harry thought that if he had met Draco in other circumstances he would have been attracted by him, the way young are often attracted by the hint of ruthlessness and power in a man.

He thought he'd better wake Draco, and said, "Mr. Malfoy." Then, more loudly, "Mr. Malfoy." He didn't even blink, but he was so soundly asleep. He hesitated, but then decided to let him sleep on and instead went upstairs to the invalid's room.

It was the first time he'd seen Draco's godfather, and Harry knew at once that he was dying. His own godfather, Sirius Black had looked just like that, so pale and sunken, when Harry had gone to say goodbye to him before he'd died, ten years ago now. Sitting down in the chair where Draco had spent so many hours, he quietly kept watch while he slept.

It was over an hour before Draco woke, doing so with a start. Immediately he ran upstairs and was furious when he saw Harry by his godfather's bed. Grabbing hold of his arm, he propelled him outside onto the landing. "Why were you with him?"

"You were asleep, so-"

"Did he call out? Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were so tired. I thought-"

"Who the hell asked you to think?" Draco suddenly snarled. "You keep out of there. I don't want him waking to find some stranger with him instead of me. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear," Harry answered shortly, his colour rising. Tugging his arm free, he headed towards the stairs.

Watching him, seeing the injured set of his shoulders, Draco gave an inner groan. "Look, I didn't mean…" But he was already running down the stairs.

The sleep had done him little good; for the rest of that day he kept dozing in the chair and jerking awake. In the afternoon Severus' breathing seemed to have eased a little and Draco looked at him hopefully, wondering if, against all odds, he would recover. Towards the evening, hardly able to keep his eyes open, Draco went down o the kitchen to make himself a drink. Harry, reading in his room, heard him go, and return some minutes ten minutes later. Then came the most terrible sound-a great cry of anguish followed by, "No! No! Oh, God, no!"

Leaping up, he ran out onto the landing. Draco came slowly out of his godfather's room, his face completely white and rigid with shock.

"What is it?" What's happ-?" Harry suddenly realised, and his heart filled with sympathy for Draco.

His voice slurred, unnatural, he said, "He's dead."

Harry reached out a tentative hand of comfort but he didn't even see it. Brushing past him, Draco went down the stairs and into the sitting room where he'd left his mobile phone. Even though he had expected this, the shock was so great his mind was refusing to accept the finality of it. It was as if that part of his mind and all the emotions that it would evoke had been blanked off, and he was concentrating entirely on practical things. With a hand that visibly shook, Draco called the Healer and told him.

"There's a snowplough in the village now," Draco was told. "I'll get the driver to come up your lane and I'll follow. They've already cleared most of the road, so it shouldn't take too long."

But it was over three hours before they heard a noise outside and saw the lights of the vehicles. Draco spent the time pacing the floor in the sitting room, just striding up and down, refusing to think, to feel, while Harry stayed quietly in the kitchen out of the way, sensing his need to be alone. The Healer, looking tired out, dealt quickly with the formalities. Severus' body was taken away and then Draco and Harry were alone again in the silent house.

Draco had gone up with the Healer to his godfather's room and hadn't come down. After a while, Harry went upstairs and got ready for bed, but as he came out of the bathroom he heard what sounded like a groan, and stood irresolutely on the landing.

Inside the room Draco stared down at the empty bed, the mental padlocks of occlumency he had put on his mind slowly dissolving as he began to accept Severus' death. And, because he held back his feelings with iron will-power and determination for all these hours, his feelings completely overwhelmed him as he relaxed. He was consumed by a tidal wave of grief that robbed him of all self-control. He went out of the room, staggering, holding onto the door jamb as if his legs wouldn't support him.

Harry saw that his arm was up across his face and he looked in deep distress. Going to him, he took his Draco's arm and he leaned heavily on him. "I wasn't there!" he exclaimed brokenly, anger and guilt adding to his grief. "All these hours-and yet I wasn't there when he went, when he needed me." Swinging away from Harry he leaned his head against the wall, beating at it with his clenched fists. "There was still so much to say. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him."

"Perhaps he didn't wake," Harry soothed. He shut the door of the room and tried to pull Draco away. He let Harry lead him. His body was shaking not only from grief but from utter exhaustion, he saw. "You're so tired; you must sleep now."

There were no other beds in the house so he guided Draco into his. He was still muttering incoherently and shaking his head from side to side in deep grief, blaming himself for going downstairs. "I shouldn't have left him. I shouldn't have left him."

"You weren't to know."

Harry sat him on the bed and bent to pull off his shoes, tried to push him back onto the pillow. But he got agitatedly to his feet and strode up and down the small room as if he were in a prison cell. Then abruptly he sat down again, his head in his hands.

Words were a waste of time; it was too soon for them, Harry realised. So he sat down next to Draco and put comforting arms round his shoulders. His body was shaking and for a while he couldn't control his grief-the terrible pain of it, the dreadful fatigue that left him without the strength to hide it.

Somehow it didn't feel strange, holding him like this. Draco was still a virtual stranger, and yet Harry knew exactly what he was going through-understood all the raw emotion that engulfed him. It didn't seem at all incongruous that Harry's slight strength should support him, that he should lean against Harry while he went through these first terrible spasms of ache and loss.

Harry went on holding him for what seemed a long time, but eventually Draco's trembling eased a little and he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and lifted his head. Harry went to move away but Draco turned within his arms. His eyes, dark and still wide with shock, held his. Harry was wearing just an old shirt that he'd found in a drawer, a man's, much too big for him and coming down to his knees. Draco, his face intense, reached out to touch it at the neck.

"This was his."

"Yes." He tried to say sorry, thinking that he was offended by it, but the words died in his throat as he looked into Draco's eyes and began to understand even more.

Slowly Draco ran his fingers down over Harry's chest. "You're so alive," he said huskily, his voice strained. "So alive."

Harry caught his breath at Draco's touch. Instinctively he knew what Draco wanted-and why. His godfather's death had made him realize his own vulnerability, how precarious life was. He needed to be close-very close-to someone, to convince himself that life could go on. For a long moment Harry looked deeply into the intense grey eyes that held his, then stood up and slowly lifted the shirt, pulled it over his head and stood before Draco in all the beauty of his naked youth.

Draco groaned as he looked at Harry, a sound almost of agony, then reached out a trembling hand to touch his waist, his thighs. "Are you sure? Oh, Merlin, are you sure?"

For answer Harry leant forward and placed his lips against Draco's.

The trembling in his body was so strong that Harry could feel it even in this light touch. For a moment he just let Harry kiss him, but then Draco surged to his feet, his hand behind Harry's head, his mouth taking Harry's now in urgent need. Still kissing him, making small animal sounds against his mouth, Draco somehow dragged off his clothes until he, too, was naked. He touched Harry's nipples and ran kisses down his throat as Harry arched against his arm, he let his other hand run free over Harry, glorying in his living warmth, the velvet softness of his skin.

Draco's need for Harry was dreadful, the deepest hunger he'd ever known, an ache so bad that he could scarcely bear the pain of it. He needed to shut out the pictures in his mind, to experience the joy, the certainty of sexual fulfillment-to convince himself that life was sweet. He needed it so badly that nothing else mattered, not conscience, convention, not even common sense.

In the young, pliant body in his arms he knew he would find solace, would assuage the devils of guilt and grief that haunted his mind. His hot, unsteady hands pulled Harry close to him so that he could hold him against his length, feel the heat of him. He heard Harry gasp when he put his hands low on his hips and held him against his growing manhood. That excited him unbearably. He wound his hand in Harry's long dark hair and took his mouth again, letting passion have free rein. Harry was excited now, Draco could feel it in the heat of his skin, hear it in his gasping breath, and touched his throbbing hardness. Harry's hands were on him, as eager as his own.

With a cry, Draco swung him onto the bed. His hair spread like a fan across the whiteness of the pillow. He saw Harry's face below him, his features sharpened by desire, but it was the heart of him Draco wanted-the one place where he could find the peace and fulfillment he craved. So he took him, took him in desperate, driven hunger. No tender act of love this, but a savage need for reassurance to overcome the primitive age long fear of morality. And as excitement came, engulfed him, Draco wanted to shout out that he was alive-alive!

He fell asleep almost at once and slept long and deeply, held in Harry's arms in the narrow bed. Some hours later he half woke, still too exhausted to be fully aware of his surroundings, but realised he was in bed and that the room was dark. He felt the man beside him and without opening his eyes he reached for him. Harry kissed him, murmured his name, used his hands and body to arouse Draco, then pushed him back and came over him, and slid down his awakened hardness, taking his own pleasure, his long cry of excitement filling the room as Draco gripped his ass and thrust up harshly as he took his won pleasure, riding Harry roughly till he released.

When Draco finally woke it was to a feeling of immeasurable peace. He was alone in the room and sunshine, of all things, shafted through the window. For a little while he lay there, knowing that he had made love and savouring the wonderful feeling. But slowly, and then with a sickening clarity, remembrance came. Severus was dead-and he had taken Harry, the young boy who had foisted himself on him but nevertheless had had a right to be safe from him. At first he was appalled, not only because he'd done such a thing with his godfather newly dead-Severus he knew would have been quite amused by it-but because he might have taken Harry against his will. But then he remembered that Harry had been a very eager participant and that guilt eased a little. But not his conscience. He should never have done it. There were no circumstances that justified what he'd done.

But Draco wasn't the type to brood on the past, on what couldn't be undone. Swiftly he got up, went to the bathroom and dressed, then ran downstairs.

Harry was in the kitchen. He was keyed up with excitement. Last night had been out of this world for him, a revelation of what sex, fantastic sex, could be like. He felt so good, so content and happy. He had never known that sex could make you feel like this-walking on air, wanting to laugh for no reason at all, to sing and dance around the room. Even if the sun hadn't been shining it would still have been the most wonderful day.

What Draco finally came in Harry ran to him, looking eagerly at his face with the intimacy of shared knowledge. But Draco didn't take him in his arms as Harry wanted. Instead he put him gently aside. "There are a lot of phone calls I ought to make."

"Oh. Of course." He stood back. Draco moved towards the door but Harry said impulsively, "Draco?"

Half turning, he gave a crooked kind of grin. "We'll talk later. In about half an hour. OK?"

He nodded, satisfied, and Draco went out to the study. He was gone for longer that he'd said; it was almost an hour before he came back. Harry supposed that he had been informing other members of his family of his godfathers death, and he wondered how long it would be before the funeral would take place. Draco, he was sure, would stay on here until then, so they could still be alone here together. Excitement rose at the thought.

But this thought was immediately shattered when Draco returned and said, "I've been in touch with other relatives; they'll be coming here as soon as they can." He paused then said heavily, "About last night. I suppose I ought to apologise, but I'm afraid I'm not sorry that it happened. I needed you-and I'm pretty certain you needed me almost as much." He didn't wait for Harry to speak but went to, "But the fact remains that I took advantage of you being here. For your sake I shouldn't have done that." He shrugged. "But I did, and I'm grateful that you were so-accommodating." His grey eyes rested on Harry's face. "And I'd like to show my gratitude by giving you this. It should keep you while you sort yourself out." And he held out a folded piece of paper.

Harry didn't take it. He could see it was a cheque. Anger flared through him. His chair fell over as he sprung to his feet. "What the hell do you think I am-a prostitute? I didn't do it for _money_!"

Draco, too, stood up and came round the table. Catching hold of Harry's arm, he said forcefully, "I know that. It isn't a payment."

Harry laughed bitterly. "What else would you call it?"

"It's just a token, a way of saying thanks. What other way do I have?"

There were a million ways, Harry thought. Like taking him in his arms and saying how wonderful it had been for him. Draco could have kissed him, smiled, said he wanted it to happen all over again. Now. Tomorrow. That Harry was important to him now. But all he'd said was that he needed him, he'd been there, available, and so he'd taken him. Used him, in other words, but was going to assuage his conscience by paying for it! Harry felt a great surge of humiliation, and what had been wonderful suddenly became tainted and dirty.

His voice tight, Harry said, "I'm leaving here. Now!"

Harry's pride and dignity astounded him. Draco had expected him to take the money with relief, if not with pleasure-not act as if he'd somehow defiled him by offering it. He was destitute, for heaven's sake, and he'd only wanted to help him, to show his gratitude in the most practical way possible. But maybe it was better this way. Draco didn't want Harry clinging round him, creating a scene when he asked him to leave, so he said shortly, "I've already arranged for a taxi to collect you. The trains are running, so it will take you to the nearest mainline station."

Harry stared at him, his face stony. "You just can't wait to get rid of me, can you?"

Draco paused, his eyes resting on his face, seeing that his anger gave him beauty. He felt a terrible reluctance to hurt Harry, but he knew it had to be done. His voice expressionless, he said, "One of the people who's on their way here, who will be arriving probably later today, is my wife."

The train was almost empty. Harry sat next to the window, looking unseeingly out at the fleeting landscape, the snow gradually giving way to patchwork fields and bar-branched trees. Draco had given him money for the fare to London and he'd had to take it. And just now, in the pocket of his anorak, he'd found the cheque he'd tried to give him earlier. It was for an immense amount, enough to keep him for ages. He would have liked to just tear it up, but he'd be an utter foll to do that. He could have afforded that kind of gesture when he'd thought there was a chance of staying with him, but not now that he had finally kicked him out. Out of his bead, out of his life.

He felt hot tears sting his eyes, but somehow blinked them back. What else had he expected, for heaven's sake? He'd been bound to kick him out eventually, and if he'd hoped for something more then he'd been kidding himself. He had to forget that night. Forget Draco Malfoy. It was time to start a new life for himself, and the easiest way to do that was to forget he even existed.


	5. Chapter Four

A Very Public Affair

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary: Have you heard the latest? Don't tell anyone but …** _Exposed: Pureblood in baby battle!_ Suddenly, Harry was the latest Prophet gossip: the boy who'd had an affair with Draco Malfoy, the notorious pureblood…

**Pairings: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley/Blaise Zabini

**Categories: **Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe (AU)

**Author's note: **Thank you to all for reviewing and I do apologise for the long delay in updating. I have been studying abroad in China for university and am only now about to return home.

**Status: **Un-betaed

Chapter Four

The auctioneer brought his hammer down for the last lot and Harry jerked back to an awareness of his surroundings. Hastily he joined in the applause when the amount raised was announced. People had been very generous; the charity had done well. He saw Draco walkover to one of the cashiers, a bag of galleons in his hand, and fleetingly wondered what he had bought; he'd been too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice. But his main concern now was to leave as quickly as possible, before Draco had a chance to approach him again.

Already there was a queue at the cloakroom for coats. Harry stood in line, impatiently tapping his foot, and retrieved his at last. He turned to hurry away but his best friend, Ron Weasley, there with his wife Hermione, stopped him and asked him to have lunch the following week. Harry accepted and got away as quickly as he could. But he was too late. Draco was waiting by the entrance, a coldly determined set to his face. When he saw him Harry stopped, then turned to go back inside.

"Running away again?" Draco said scathingly. "You seem to make a habit of it."

"What I do is no business of yours," Harry retorted icily.

"But that's where you're wrong." Stepping forward, Draco took his arm in a vice-like grip. "It seems that you're very much my concern." And he led Harry past the crowds through to a side-door where with a sharp pull he brought Harry up flush against his chest.

"Do you always go around being this high-handed?" Harry demanded angrily, uncomfortably aware that some other guests had followed him out and had seen them together. That little titbit would, he supposed bitterly, all the gossip columns tomorrow.

Draco brought out his wand and whispered a quiet _Muffliato_ for privacy and without a thought a quick _Expelliarmus_ to ensure Harry stayed. It was the first time he'd managed to get Harry alone and he'd meant to be reasonable, but all he could feel was anger at the way Harry had deceived him. "I have tried every way possible to talk to you," he said shortly. "If you persist in refusing then I'm left with no alternative."

"But I don't want to talk to you. And I insist you let me go."

"You know I'm not going to, so why say it?"

Harry laughed acidly. "Yes, I suppose it is too much to hope that you'd ever behave with any consideration for anyone other than your egotistical self."

Harry's bitterness took him aback. Draco's eyes narrowed as he realised he had more to deal with here then he'd thought. After a moment he said, "Have you eaten yet? How about going somewhere for supper?"

"No."

"No to which?"

Harry turned on him, his eyes full of antagonism. "No to anything and everything you say. I want nothing to do with you."

Draco was not used to being talked to so rudely. His lips thinned and he said, "Isn't it a bit late for that?"

Harry flushed and turned away, not wanting to be reminded of the night he'd spent with him. He'd been trying not to look at Draco directly, but it was hard not to remember the powerful body that was under the immaculate dress robes, a body perfect in its masculinity. Yet again he wondered about Draco's ex-wife, why they'd divorced. But that was nothing to do with him; he'd had enough to concentrate on in keeping Draco from James.

Draco was trying to work out how to play it. Harry's flushed cheeks told him that he was still sensitive about their lovemaking, which surprised him; it had been so long ago. And just for that one night. But maybe Harry was entitled to be sensitive, as it had resulted in him having a child. With his voice more gentle, Draco said, "Why didn't you tell me about James?"

Harry's eyes, a beautiful emerald green, he noticed, flashed fire at him again. "James is nothing to do with you."

"He is according to his birth certificate," he replied evenly.

"You had no right to look that up, to go prying into my life."

"You had no right to keep his existence from me," Draco returned shortly.

Harry hesitated, then thought that he would do anything to keep James away from him. So he said, "Actually-what I put on the certificate wasn't true. I-I don't know who his real father is. There were a couple-a few men around at the time. But I had to give some name, so I just picked yours out of thin air. But he definitely _isn't_ yours," he added for good measure.

For a moment Draco was astonished Harry would cheapen himself in this way but then recognized it for the desperate try that it was. "The dates fit," he pointed out. "And a blood test would prove whether or not I am his father,"

"I won't let you or anyone else touch my son," Harry said fiercely.

"The law will insist on it."

Draco saw that Harry was very tense, his face white and his hands clenched into tight fists. At his most persuasive, he said, "I don't mean James and harm, you know."

Raising his eyes to meet Draco's, Harry said forcefully, "You would ruin his life-as you ruined mine!" with his heart full of resentment, Harry couldn't resist asking, "What made you take so long to sell your godfather's old place?"

"I'm not selling it. I'm just having the contents valued for insurance purposes. I didn't specifically ask for you to do the valuation, if that's what your thinking. I just asked Saint Mungo's to recommend an expert to look over some of the books. If you remember," he added with some irony, "you never told me your real surname."

So it was nemesis, Harry thought with deep chagrin. Just cruel fate that had caught up with him and dealt him yet another blow.

At the sounds of voices at the door, Draco pulled Harry to him and with a turn apparated them away.

With a start Harry flinched in Draco's hold as they both came to a standstill. With surprise Harry saw that they were outside his own building. But if Draco thought he was going to invite him in he was crazy. Harry rounded on him. "Look, I've already told you I want nothing to do with you. I'm not going to talk to you. If you insist on bringing this stupid lawsuit then I can't stop you, it seems. But I refuse to discuss it."

"Well that's a shame because I'm not leaving until we have. And we can talk either here or in your place-suit yourself."

"If you don't let go of me I'll have you arrested for assault," Harry threatened.

Draco shrugged. "That should look good in the papers."

Harry's face tightened at that and Draco could almost have felt sympathy for him if he hadn't been so determined to get what he wanted-and by now he didn't much care how. He'd had his chance to meet him on a reasonable level. He must have fire-called, owled and gone personally to the flat about thirty times, but Harry had flatly refused to even listed. So now he must take the consequences.

They gazed at each other, each determined not to give way. But then a couple of cars pulled into the forecourt, carrying other tenants of the flats. Taking instant advantage of it, Draco held out Harry's wand and said, "Do you want them to see us standing here quarrelling?"

Harry took his wand back with an annihilating look at Draco, and went to the entry panel where he pressed his wand against the button for his flat and the door opened. He lived on the third floor. Reluctantly Harry led the way there. Draco had let go his iron grip on Harry's arm but was close behind, watchful, alert in case he tried to give him the slip.

Remus opened the door for Harry, timing it perfectly as he always did so that he didn't have to ring the bell. Harry took some satisfaction in seeing Draco's eyebrows rise. He'd probably been expecting a young female au pair or a house elf-definitely not an older man with graying light brown hair and shabby but clean clothes who was giving him the critical once-over.

Harry smiled at Remus. "Everything OK?"

"Perfectly fine."

He was still looking at Draco with interest but Harry didn't introduce them. "Hang around for a while, will you, please Moony? This-person won't be staying long."

Remus nodded and went into the kitchen.

Leading the way into the sitting room, Harry shut the door, then turned to Draco. "All right, so you're here. What do you want?"

Draco looked at him for a moment, sensitive to the antagonism in Harry's voice, in the way he looked at him-even in the way he stood, so slim and defiant. But he hadn't come to threaten him-and he certainly hadn't come to beg. So keeping his voice casual, he said, "Could I have a drink? A whisky, if you have it?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, not wanting him to stay, not even wanting to offer him any hospitality, but then crossed to a drinks tray resting on a sideboard and poured him a firewhisky and soda.

Harry had his back to him, so Draco was unable to watch him openly. He remembered that he'd been very thin when they'd made love, his body half-starved from the way he'd been living rough. But he'd been full of fire and passion so intense that it had amazed him then and he could remember it now. Harry was still slim, but his figure was rounded in the right places-perhaps because he'd had a child. But was he still as passionate behind the cold face he turned towards him when he handed the drink?

"You seem to have changed a lot since we first met," he remarked. "Now you're very self assured, independent. I suppose that comes from having to bring up James by yourself. I'm sorry that you had to bear all the responsibility alone. If I'd known I would certainly have-"

"Have what?" Harry interrupted tersely. "Written out a cheque?"

His chin hardening a little, Draco said, "I would certainly have wanted to help you in any way I could yes. Financially, or in-"

Harry gave a harsh laugh. "You seem to forget-you gave me a cheque at the time so you paid in advance!"

Draco suckered in his breath. So that was it! Vaguely he remembered how upset Harry had been when he'd tried to help him. But his godfather's death had been weighing on his mind. And, yes, he'd felt damned guilty about taking the boy although he'd been willing enough. The classic 'morning after' syndrome. And maybe giving him money had been an attempt to assuage that guilt. But it was amazing to see that he still resented it after all these years. Slowly, feeling his way, he said, "Is that why you didn't tell me about James?"

"James is mine. You were-incidental." Deliberately Harry belittled him. He wanted Draco to leave, hating the way he'd been coerced into this conversation and afraid that at any moment he would ask to see James.

Draco gave a short laugh. Putting down his glass, he went over to where one of James' toy trucks lay in the corner. Squatting down he picked it up, apparently only interested in seeing how it tipped up and the doors opened. But then he glanced up at Harry and his voice was very cold. "But I do not intend to be just 'incidental' any longer."

With dismay Harry saw that he'd only stiffened Draco's resolve, and suddenly his voice rose in anger as he said hotly, "If you'd had children of your own, from your marriage, then you wouldn't have cared less about James! If I'd told you and you'd given me money then, it would only have been for an abortion! You wouldn't-"

He broke off as Draco straightened and strode to confront him. Standing over Harry, and suddenly seeming immensely tall and powerful, he said curtly, "How the hell do you know what I would or wouldn't have done? If I had a dozen children James would still be precious to me. But you have denied me my only son. I've lost the first five years of his life! But I'm not going to let you keep me from him any longer."

Harry squared up to him, refusing to be intimidated, a lioness protecting his cub. "You keep away from him. We don't need you. We never have and we never will." His voice rose. "Now get out! Just get out of my home!"

Draco reached out as if to get hold of Harry and shake him, his jaw thrusting with anger, but the door opened and Remus came in. "You'll wake the boy," he said reprovingly. "Do you want him to hear you quarrelling over him like this?"

Balling his fists, Draco strove to control his rage. "Who's he?" he demanded.

"A friend, he helps look after James" Harry returned shortly.

Draco stared at him in disbelief, then turned and strode towards the door. There he turned and said curtly, "I meant what I said-I intend to be a part of James' life, and if I have to fight you to get that, then I'll do whatever it takes."

His face white, Harry said, "Don't you dare threaten me."

But when he'd gone Harry's legs seemed to lose their strength, and if Remus hadn't grabbed him he would have fallen. Trembling, he leaned against his shoulder. "Oh, Merlin, Remus, what am I going to do? He'll take James away from me! I know he will."

Outside on the pavement Draco banged his clenched fist against the wall, furious with himself for having lost his temper, and even more furious with Harry for having goaded him into it. He hadn't meant to threaten him and he'd ended up doing that very thing. Instead of getting access to James by negotiation, he would now have to fight for it, with Harry probably pouring poison about him into the boy's ears.

He could have returned home, but instead he decided to take a walk while thinking over his meeting with Harry. His anger made him stride out, and he'd reached the corner when he happened to glance back, just in time to see the older man Harry had referred to as a friend coming out of the flats. Without hesitation, Draco cast a non-verbal disillusionment charm, and then followed the man as he headed in the other direction.

He didn't have to trail him very far; within five minutes his quarry turned into the entrance of a large old Victorian building only a couple of streets away. Draco gave him time to get inside and then went to look at the building more closely. At the side of the door was a notice: Werewolf Support Services. Draco gasped in astonishment. Good grief! Harry was using a werewolf to look after his only son! His jaw hardened with renewed resolve; no way was he going to allow this to go on. And what he'd just learned would certainly help his case, he realised with grim satisfaction. No judge in his right mind would refuse him access to James, or even his upbringing, after this.


End file.
